


Warning Signs

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Barnes is forced into faking his death by the FBI before he's moved into witness protection by the joint task force he has been working with for the past six months. A lot is at stake for the operation while Bucky's old company, Hydra, is using its money and power to silence anyone thinking about talking in anyway nesscary.</p><p>While James has to worry about his old boss making house calls, he is taken in by someone he thinks has nothing to do with the case, Sam Wilson. While Bucky is wondering if he can trust the stranger now making him dinner his old company gears up for one of the biggest illegal deals of the past three decades...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plan A

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TenSpencerRiedPlease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenSpencerRiedPlease/gifts).



It was on an ordinary day that James Buchanan Barnes woke up. He had never questioned his life choices, never went back on an order and never disobeyed. The fact that he was the consequence when someone did disobey gave a sweet irony to it all. James would think it would take something hard to shake him from the life. His death, maybe Steve's, but it was when he was moving the safety off the slip of his gun looking down at someone that he had known for years to shoot them that did him in.

All Bucky kept thinking in the quiet moment staring down at someone he had called his friend… well that did matter now. What mattered was what he chose to do next.

And now he was here.

He had been in compliance with three different departments for the last six months to help him keep the nightmares out. They had spent four of those months building a case that would close like a steel trap around James' past employers-past friends. For the last six months James' skin itched while he wore a wire to meetings, planted hidden cameras, and willingly talked to the lawyers and police in the operation. When it got more heated, i.e their was a location change for some more profitable goods, they decided to pull James and start phase two of the deal: witness protection.

Of course James knew it was always an option to squeal and run. Countless others had done it in the past but James hated the idea of it. James Barnes didn’t deserve a chance to be saved. The fact that the investigator pulled him out when he knew he could have gotten more made his skin rash with irritation and inaction. He hated the fact that they had to elaborately fake a car accident and that it looked as fake as it was. And he hated the fact that he had to change his name to Jim.

“Jim Buchanan, 34 years of age - Washington Virginia native. Mother is in a nursing home down state, no other relatives,” the officer says, giving James the manila envelope. Bucky is in the back of the truck with the agent dressed in street clothes and a baseball hat. One policeman and two, what James could only assume, FBI agents sit in the truck with him.

“I still don't understand why I'm not in Florida. DC seems too close.” James gruffs reaching into the folder to get his state issued fake identifications. All the good mobsters in witness protection where moved to Florida, it had been a long running joke with his … company that they would go down there for vacation one day and come back with the teeth of people that had betrayed them. James looks further into the envelope; his new social security card, driver’s license, and bankcard are shoved into the folder with the rest of the stuff - all listed under J. Buchanan. James doesn't have a wallet; they made him leave it with the New York department when they swooped in to put him into the program.

“Since this is a joint effort for the Bureau and the New York PD we thought it might be better to keep you close to the base of operations,” one of the officers explains. They turn down a residential street after the GPS pings them to move. The agent in the front is putting up her hair in the passenger seat and is attempting to loop all of their hair through the back of a baseball cap with a Tiger's logo printed on it.

“And where are we going?” James asks. It was twenty four hours since the first call to tell him they were phasing him into the witness program and they had been scarce with the details ever since.

“We are moving you into a roommate situation,” the officer sitting to his left tells him. James twists his face up in a grimace and she seems to get the message- “ it's not with another program member. We are putting you with local PD. They are going to acclimatize you to the area and help gather your testimony for court,” she clarifies but Bucky’s wrinkled nose, like he had caught the scent of something particularly nasty that lingers in the air.

Living with a cop? James thinks about bailing, maybe taking the chance of being alone. At least then he wouldn't have to have some goody two shoes breathing down the back of his neck- the thought of that sounded worse than going to prison. At least there he could keep his identity.

“We felt the roommate situation was best for our purposes because you are under constant protection and we can gather information from you easily. Wilson has respectively been putting out wanted ads for roommates for the last week in preparation,” the officer continues. So Bucky was supposed to play his roommate… which made the dresser in the back far more practical and it made the presence of the piece of furniture make sense. So now he had clothes that weren’t his and a life that wasn’t his. He sits back in his seat, looking out the window seeing the distasteful look on his face shine back at him.

It's another five minutes with the radio playing a local radio station and everybody sitting in silence before they are turning into an older piece of what Bucky would call a suburban landscape. One of the agents in the front radios whomever about the status and hides their transmitter before they pull up into a driveway.

“Ready?” the agent sitting in the back seat with Bucky asks. She's got blonde hair tucked underneath a Virginia state baseball hat. He thinks her name is Carter but can't remember if was a first or last name.

“Good enough,” James grunts and goes to open the door. He tries not to think about the sobering fact that after he gets out of this truck the man he is, the man he once was, would be gone.

But he does get out. It becomes both his deathbed and birthplace. He is baptized in the sunlight coming through the leaves above the shaded lane way. Bucky feel disoriented by his surroundings as he follows one of the agents into the house. This wasn’t where he was meant to be, this wasn’t his home, and he knows right away that he’ll never be comfortable here. His current situation was a brief stop on his way to other things, whatever those things might be. Or not be, but he doesn’t want to think about that.

He's still holding onto the folder with his information in it, his mouth feels dry as he looks around the place to take in the surroundings. The home is small and filled with photographs of a family he doesn’t know. It smells like someone is cooking, or had been recently. The house is blanketed with soft light from big ground floor windows not covered in bars. Someone comes around the corner of the hallway and walks up to Bucky to shake his hand. He feels distinctly out of place in a home that was supposed to be his now too, and he shifts with discomfort at the thought.

“Sam,” he says, no evidence of a smile. The man’s hair shaved down to his skull, his nose is straight and cheekbones are high and sharp. He’s wearing an ill fitted t-shirt but Bucky can see the strength and muscle. His eyes hold to Bucky’s firm and Bucky tries to think of a way to describe what color Sam’s eyes are. Bucky holds firm to his gaze for a moment taking Sam in just enough to gauge what kind of man he is as they shake hands.

“Bucky.” He returns letting go of Sam Wilson’s hand in favor of moving out of the way of the driver and passenger agent's to haul in a dresser while the other, Carter, comes in through the side door with a bed frame.

“This stuff is mostly for show. Wilson explained to me that he already had most of the things already,” Carter explains, dumping pieces of the metal bed frame into the living room.

“There's a guest room at the end of the hall all ready for you,” Sam adds before moving outside to what Bucky can assume is get more things from the truck. Bucky goes to follow him but Carter stops him with a tug of the arm.

“You’re staying here, we don't want too much exposure just yet. Wilson has guaranteed me that his neighbor's are safe but I'm not taking a chance.” Carter states and instead leads him into an area that could be considered a dining room but was so littered in police files he had to second-guess himself. Carter points to a seat for Bucky and routes through a stack of papers that looked more loosely organized than the rest of them. Carter cusses under her breath before moving onto the next.

“While you're here, the prosecutor for the state requested that you begin taping your deposition for the case. Wilson was sent a copy of the questions so you can do the initial taping.” Carter continues to shuffle around for the paper on her mind but it looked like the table was flooded with years’ worth of work. The person who was doing the work wasn’t even organized, no less.

Wilson comes back into the house with a couple bags of clothes and takes the long route so he can stop and help Carter look for the paper. They mumble together under their breath before Bucky starts the search himself, scanning the table with his eyes as the other two shuffle the paperwork around.

Bucky plucks a piece of paper with “DESPOSITION FOR BUCHANAN” written across the top and shows it to both of the officers who look only mildly relieved that Bucky has found it.

Carter points to the paper before dropping her hands to her hips for an awkward moment, assessing the situation at hand. “That,” she continues trying really hard to keep her tone firm, “that is a list of desposition questions that we’ll want recorded so the law team can keep going on the case.”

“Won't my written testimony and CI work do the same job?” Bucky asks, trying not to sound annoyed. He was told that whatever he did for the crew would be recorded so he wouldn't have to go to court against them, against _him._

“The law team wants recorded sessions- apparently it's more credible if a witness speaks,” Carter tries to explain but it seems forced. He doesn't push it, unsure of what it will take for him to be done with his old company other than a bullet in the brain.

“Are they afraid I won't live until the end of the case?” Bucky asks bluntly. Wilson tenses up but Carter doesn't. She locks eyes with him across the table. They both know why they had to burn James Barnes and fake his death. They both know that any whiff of heat from an agency as big as the FBI meant Bucky’s Boss was someone to watch and it would be buried just as fast as sparks ignited. Carter knows what HYDRA does with snitches just as well as Bucky does.

“We're covering all of the bases.” Carter says calmly. No one speaks for a moment before Bucky looks to Sam. [i]Are you going to protect and serve [/i], Bucky thinks, [i]are you going to stop that bullet that’s chasing after me?[/i]

Sam Wilson stands stoic beside Carter- maybe he could read Bucky’s mind. Maybe he can hear a shot ring out for his own head. Either way, Sam stands there looking like a man deciding whether or not to run.

*****

It's about two hours before the trio of people leaves Sam and Bucky alone with one another. Bucky thinks about unloading the garbage bags of clothes out so see what things Jim Buchanan wears.

Instead, Bucky sinks down into the couch in the living room trying to digest the last couple of days. He puts his head back to close his eyes sinking into a memory.

_Bucky's neck is covered in sweat from being in an elevator alone with him. He wonders if he knows that his tiepin became a microphone, that a cuff link became a tracker._

_He turns to smile at James but it's greasy, it makes James want to bathe just looking at him. Though he smiles back as they wait in silence on the ride down. He uses his time to adjust his tie and check his teeth in the reflection of the doors as they speed down._

_“I can expect you tomorrow?” he says meeting James' eyes in the reflection. He’s talking about the shipment container. He wants as many as possible available, making sure there were no variables left to chance and James pretends that if he looks at him directly he’ll turn to stone._

_“Have I ever let you down before, sir?” James replies. The one thing he had learned over the span of his lifetime was how to lie and how to mean it._

_“That's my boy,” he says, the greasy smile never slips from his face. When the doors open on the main floor he steps out onto the floor and into the protection of two very mean- very armed guards._

_“Have a good evening, Mr. Barnes.”_

_“You too Boss,” James says, pretending like he meant it._

“Wanna beer?” Sam Wilson asks and Bucky is blinking awake- he must have fallen asleep because he was a lot more sunken into the couch as before and his mouth felt dry. Bucky looks out the window seeing the light begin to tint from a light blue to navy.

“I don't drink,” Bucky says and Sam looks a bit surprised but doesn't ask why.

“Want a water?” he offers instead and Bucky shakes his head. Sam sinks down in the car closest to the couch and puts his feet up on top of the corner of the coffee table and cracks open a beer. Bucky tries not to grimace at Sam's feet up on the furniture but he has to remind himself that it's not his place to say.

Sam Wilson isn't much of a talker; he’s more interested in the nightly news than Bucky. At least he can appreciate the cops silence rather than a badgering of questions. Bucky leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and watches too- pretending to be interested in the game stats rather than the reminder of his Boss’ greasy smile.

For a bit longer they sit in silence. At a commercial break there's a knock at the door that sets them both on edge as they both shoot straight up. Bucky's heart starts pounding at an inhuman rate while Sam makes a motion to sit back down and remain quiet.

Wilson moves cautiously towards the door. The inside of the house becomes still while both men hold their breath. Sam gets to the side door searching out for something to weaponize if things went bad and finds the baseball bat before he opens the door.

Bucky hears voices but he can't tell what they’re saying. He's a bit too far away to actually make out any words but then again someone that was here to kill you and your inhabitants wouldn't chat you up first. A few more moments and there is a sound like a laugh and Bucky thinks it's safe to sit back down at least. He wonders if he should just sink back into the couch and go back to sleep or go pretend to be interested in who was at the door.

Bucky decides to follow his gut and go to the door even though it could go sour when he gets there. He comes into view of a woman, around fifty with a big crooked smile and a glassware container holding some casserole like thing. It looks the same color as her grey hair and it makes Bucky’s stomach turn just looking at it.

“Darlene, this is Jim,” Sam introduces and Bucky has to remind himself that’s him now. He stretches out his hand to meet her in a handshake.

“Nice to meet you.” Darlene smiles though Bucky is not entirely sure if she means it.

“You too,” he replies and he knows he doesn't mean that.

“Darlene stopped by to talk about the block party in a coming up,” Sam interjects eyes bouncing back and forth between the two as if he’s watching a really intense tennis match.

“Okay,” Bucky says nodding and crossing his arms, pretending he was actually interested in that. Darlene looks a bit put off that he doesn't ask more about it, her smile ever so slightly waivers on her face.

“Jim just moved back from Canada,” Sam says. It feels like a prompt for Bucky to agree with him and elaborate but he just looks at Sam for a bit too long before nodding.

“Oh really? How exciting did you learn French while you were there?” Darlene asks and Bucky looks to her and has a flashback to two minutes ago where he could have just stayed on the couch. No one would ever claim he was intelligent except maybe Steve but that was like your mother telling you you’re smart… it didn’t count.

“No,” he says flatly and the air all but dies. At least something else was as dead as Bucky’s old life, he guessed.

The silence gets to Darlene first whose looks hurt to be smiling for so long. She hands over the dish to Sam and wipes her hands off on the doorframe.

“Well, just add yourself to the Facebook group when you get the chance. We’d love for you to be there,” Darlene says and nods her head towards Bucky much like a side thought.

“If I can't you're more than welcome to run an extension cord out back for those lamps you had last year.” Sam says and Darlene coos at him in excitement. Bucky decides her life must be dead boring to be excited about some fucking lamps.

Sam can't wait to close the door and cast a look of disappointment towards Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asks grumpily. Sam is still standing there pretending that this is an everyday thing for him. Like people actually brought others food and talked about block parties. It's not like Brooklyn never had those things- they just happened in the nice rich people’s neighborhoods in the 1960’s.

“Did you forget your manners in New York or something?” Sam snips and walks into the kitchen to open the trashcan. He’s already spooning Darlene’s casserole into the garbage when Bucky follows him in.

“Fucking say that again?” Bucky grunts. He's just met Wilson all of one day and he's stretching the line. Bucky is tired and frustrated and Sam’s try to be a big shot and call him out. Does he know who James is? Does he know how he got his rep? Because none of it was very pretty unless you had a fondness for red.

“Never mind,” Wilson snaps and Bucky's face gets a red feeling heat rise up on his face. 

“You don't get a reason to be angry at me. You put me on the spot and I didn’t know what to say,” Bucky snaps back. Sam keeps scraping what looked to be a perfectly good casserole into the trash.

“The more you blend in the easier it makes my job for me Buchanan,” Wilson says and Bucky flinches. He can't help it; he just wasn't expecting his new identity to have to be here too.

“So I'm supposed to play Mr. Rogers every time someone opens the door?”

“Yeah,” Wilson says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, completing the words with an irritated look that indicated he thought Bucky was an idiot for not catching that before. Bucky tries not to look at him like he's an alien. “The more friendly you are in this neighborhood the better. Those people don't get gossiped about over fences and to friends and to family when they are normal and friendly with nothing to hide. So you better be pulling those sweater vests and house shoes out of the closet from now on,” Wilson tells him, stacking the container and the spatula in the sink.

They both stare at each other for a second before Wilson points to the hallway. “The bathroom is the center door. Your room will be to the right,” Wilson explains in a mild tempered tone before b-lining back to the living room to grab his drink before heading silently to bed.


	2. Plan B

Bucky falls asleep on the couch again after Wilson goes to bed. The television remains on, it initially started off but Bucky found it too hard to  sleep because there isn't enough noise from the street and it silence is far too intrusive, sending him into deep moments of ‘what if’. Whenever he thinks about how he's never going to see Brooklyn again his gut aches.  What he's done makes him worry more though. Bucky worries about his family that he's left behind, the fact they’ll grieve for their lost son, and their best friend, even though he could walk back into their lives at any moment they’re hearts break as they receive ashes to spread. He wants them to be safe, to know everything is going to be okay but he can't tell them that.

The cop that he worked with gathering evidence told him once that it was selfish to do the job that he had and still have a family. That his family doesn't deserve to wonder if he’s coming home or not. What he was doing- the job he was trying to pull didn't just put his life in danger- but put his family’s life in danger yet he didn't quit. The cop used to work undercover selling newspapers at a stand. Bucky used to trade him SD cards of recordings and files between crumpled dollar bills.

He didn't really think selling newspapers was such a dangerous job- but then again all Bucky did was 'chauffeur’ and he was onceshot in the leg.

Wilson comes out around 5am in full work out attire and sees Bucky on the couch. They look at one another for a few seconds before Sam starts to stretch. “I’ll be back in about an hour.” He promises and Bucky just nods before he leaves.

Bucky hasn't had a roommate since he moved out of his parents place at seventeen so he grunts and tries to somehow wipe drool of his face without Sam noticing

Bucky doesn't move from his spot on the couch while Sam is gone but his mind drifts in and out of thought. What if the information he gave wasn't enough? What if his old boss found out he was working with the law for the past two years? How did it all start on CI tips to full blown wire taps and GPS monitors? What if his family was in jeopardy? Why did Sam just throw that casserole out last night without eating it? Why did he complain about Bucky’s manners and then throw out some perfectly good food? What kind of man is Sam Wilson? It all makes his stomach feel worse thinking about it. Bucky sinks further into the couch after a while and pretends that the television can drown out his thoughts so he can go back to sleep.

Wilson gets back promptly 'in about an hour’ and wakes Bucky up again. He heads straight to the bathroom and Bucky gets up to follow him.

“Carter wasn't very forward about why I'm here.” Bucky says as Wilson peels off a sweat-drenched shirt in the hallway. Sam looks at him like he was starting to sprout a third eye and uses the hem of the shirt to wipe off some sweat from his face. Bucky’s eyes hover over the Cops frame- strong muscles underneath warm brown skin. His chest was strongly built even though his hips had seemed narrow under his shirt. Bucky realizes that the shirt had concealed his muscles that now bared strength in every movement.

“The U.S Marshal service provides 24 hour protection in all high threat cases,” Wilson quotes to Bucky. Bucky snaps his eyes back up to Sam's less than amused face. “The case that you helped collect evidence for became too high risk for a civilian and Agent Carter, along with the rest of the agents working with the FBI, decided to pull you before someone got hurt.” Sam leaves it at that, walking towards the bathroom and tossing his shirt into the hamper in the corner of the overly bleached white bathroom.

Bucky thinks about what 'too high risk’ actually means. It's wasn't too high risk for him last year when he had a gun pressed against his temple and was threatened to 'drive the fucking car or get your brains wiped off the windshield with the wipers’. And it wasn't 'high risk’ for the cop that helped him smuggle information to the FBI when they came onto the case six months ago. His life of his families hadn’t been a risk until six months ago and now he was dead to everyone he ever knew. Bucky feels the heat of anger boil in his chest and when Sam is closing the door Bucky lurches forward and slams his hand on the door to force it open.

“People got hurt every day I was in that job, the only reason there was heat before you guys pulled me out was because the FBI made it hot.” Bucky challenges. Wilson looks at him concerned for a moment, something that quickly looks like pity before Bucky lets his hand relax on the door so Sam can close it.  Sam had made it very clear that Bucky can't ask anymore questions- he can hear the faucets of the shower chug alive a moment after.  

Bucky thinks about kicking the door in retaliation. He feels like a kid again when no one told him anything serious. Wilson's face looked similar to all of the other adults who kept secrets from him by not telling him the truth.

Bucky tries to ignore that feeling before he stomps towards the dining room slash makeshift office. His hand has begun to sting from slamming it against the door so hard. The whirlwind of papers still cover the table with empty brown boxes pushed to the side. It looks like someone had dumped every scrap of paper onto the table without any thought. Bucky sees pictures he had taken himself of members at venues, written statements by bystanders and other C.I’s with their names redacted, along with a receipt or two from a deli in Washington. Bucky isn't sure what he’s looking for or why all of this information is piled up on a table rather than on a hard drive but it certainly makes it a bit more interesting.

He knows Wilson is in the shower so he has to snoop smart and keep his ears tuned to the noise from the showerhead. Sitting on a chair is a file folder bound in elastic bands with Barnes written on the side. He doesn't even think about stopping himself from cracking it open and seeing what was inside…

At the beginning of the pile of the papers were photographs of him driving and talking on a flip phone from 200 yards away. His hair is short in these pictures and he's more clean-shaven. There's a big shot from an assault, and fingerprints from his first booking dated ‘98. The whole thing felt like a twisted scrapbook of his criminal career.

“It’s the criminal record they wanted me to review before you got here.” Sam says fresh from the shower and with clean clothes,  “I know all about your criminal career- from juvie to the largest trafficking rings in the eastern United States.” Bucky doesn’t even jump when Sam comes out from practically thin air.

“I'll make sure to title my autobiography that,” Bucky snips, snapping the file and throwing it in amongst the other files. It slides across the dining room table throwing other papers to the floor.  Bucky grips hard to the table trying to decide if he should throw something or not to get Sam to take him seriously.

“Don’t get angry at me because you’re angry at yourself.” Sam says. It’s like a sharp knife cutting across his skin. But Sam doesn't seem angry that Bucky has his mitts rifling through all the paperwork sitting out in the open.  Or that he’s shouting at him and throwing his things. Sam was more upset when he wasn't nice to the nosey neighbor.

“Why didn't you eat that woman’s casserole last night?” Bucky asks. He thinks that if just maybe Sam could tell him something that he didn’t have to feel angry at him. Sam looks confused for a second before answering as if it's the most logical conclusion;

“Because that woman spices her food with mayonnaise and I wouldn't wish that on anybody,” Sam says, deadpan.

*

The rest of the day is a weird dance around each other as Bucky reads the information on Jim Barnes that some talent less writer with a mad libs book wrote about his new life. He tries to ask Wilson more generic questions about the case but Wilson chooses to ignore him for his own generic questions about if Bucky prefers one milk or two in his coffee.

Bucky explores the rest of the house minus Sam’s bedroom…The guest room is nice at least. White walls, dark flooring, blue rug that matches the bed sheets. It looks like Wilson might have just picked a set out of some fancy catalog and put it together. It was nice- it just didn't go well with the rest of the worn in furniture and curbside pieces in the rest of the house. The stuff that was in the back of the truck has been piled into the corner of the room for safekeeping or something. A small dresser and bed frame along with five garbage bags filled with clothes and a Drugstore bag with toothbrush and fresh socks. Those belongings made his life look pretty fucking bleak.

The afternoon comes around and Bucky isn't sure of he should just help himself to the food in the house or not. Sam could be offended if he asked but there wasn't any rules really laid in place for him either, so how was he to know either way? He should be acting like his roommate right? So what should be out of bounds?

Bucky decides to just go for it and shuffled helplessly around the kitchen looking for things to cook with. He thinks he can manage some noodles because all he seemed to find was dried and far from becoming a meal. Bucky is digging through cabinets trying to find a pot when Wilson comes in.

Bucky watches as Sam looks around and sees the noodles on the counter before pulling the drawer out from under the stove to grab a pan. He brings it over to the sink to fill water into it and places it on the stove to warm up.

“Using a pan means less water wasted,” Sam quickly explains before opening up the fridge and pulling out vegetables. He places them on the piece of jutted out counter that worked as a peninsula and grabs a knife from the block before going to wash his hands.

“I can do the rest myself,” Bucky grimaces before Wilson sighs and checks on the water.

“I don't doubt you can. But why should you have to?” Wilson asks and Bucky gets a feeling that this isn't exclusively about making something to eat. Bucky takes the ponytail from his wrist to put up his hair before washing his hands and joining Wilson at the counter to help chop up vegetables.

It’s a quiet process but Sam willingly lets Bucky take over cutting up vegetables so he can start cooking them along side of the pasta. Soon the whole kitchen fills with steam from the water wading spices and the smell of cooking vegetables. Sam adds garlic though Bucky is under the impression that it isn’t nearly enough, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Over supper we should talk about the program,” Sam offers and Bucky agrees, taking the cutting board to the sink to wash up. Sam serves up the pasta stirred in with vegetables for Bucky and takes a plate of the rest of the vegetables to the living room couches. Bucky follows along with a glass of water.

“Tell me about how you got brought into the program?” Sam asks spearing some food with his fork to take a mouthful. He sets his plate on the coffee table and leans over it as he chews.

Bucky frowns, “Isn't that in your file about me?” he also but Sam shrugs it off.

“I want to hear it from you. Between you and me Agent Carter’s reports can be very dry,” Sam says light-heartedly and Bucky fights off the urge to sneer at such a terrible joke.

“I wasn't supposed to go into the Witness program. I was supposed to be there for shipment next month that's supposed to be worth over four mill. My contact with the PD didn't even tell me what they were going to do. Next thing I know the fucking FBI pulls me out of my car, tells me they’re taking me to a safe house, and I get to hear about my ‘car crash’ on the drive down to Virginia.” Bucky tries not to sound snippy towards the end but the words cut deep as he thinks of his mom having to make funeral arrangements for her first son. _It’s selfish,_ Bucky thinks, _I'm selfish for thinking that I could do this job and my family would be okay._

“Did you ever know what kind of shipments were coming into the port?” Sam asks. Its Bucky's turn to shrug. Because he didn't know- you could usually guess from how many people were brought into the loop to pick up the shipment or sometimes by how much they quoted the take to be but Bucky hadn’t much of a clue as to what could be brought in. Guns or drugs were a good guess, but four million worth in either would be difficult to split up and harder still to move. Bucky takes a couple of bites of food and rolled up pasta with his fork while Sam moves some peppers to the side of his plate.

“How long have you been an Marshall?” Bucky asks, trying to change the subject. Sam is mid bite when he gets the question and he has to finish before he can answer.

“I’m a retired Marshall-sort of... I work with the Washington Police Department,” Sam answers. Bucky must look confused because Sam nonchalantly adds: “ I'm a co-chair with the major crimes department.”

“Oh,” Bucky says ignoring a price of pasta that slips off his fork and onto his plate. “So then why are you housing me exactly?” Bucky asks and Sam’s jaw gets tight at the question.

“So how did you get a nickname like Bucky?” Sam asks spinning the question towards him again. Bucky watches as Sam pretends to be more focused on his plate rather than make eye contact. Wilson's shoulders tense up bit more and Bucky can tell he’s hiding more than he wants to let on. He gets that cops are going to have secrets. Nothing changes the fact that he’s still a criminal in their eyes. But it's a knee jerk response that makes Bucky want to peel something more from Sam. He knows that Sam is hiding something, and it's got to be big if it entails him coming out of retirement for it.

“The same way you got the name Sam,” Bucky snaps and stuffs a forkful of pasta into his mouth, “someone gave it to me.” Bucky continues to chew in the process as Sam raised his eyebrows to his shitty response and continues eating.

*

After supper Sam breaks the silence telling him that he's going into work for the night shift since he had taken the day off. From what Bucky could tell Sam had just sat filling out paperwork at the dining room table all day and had done plenty of work but him leaving was not to be disputed. Bucky was assured that he could page him at the office with the number taped to the fridge, and that his new babysitter would be planted in the neighborhood for the rest of the night. Bucky responded by snorting at the thought that he had become an adopted house cat.

With Sam gone the house becomes eerily quiet and still. The windows at the back of the house had been closed to shut out the noise of the crickets and the light grew dim outside. Bucky thinks for a second that he should take the time to unpack the foreign clothes he had been given but the moment is fleeting and he goes back to curl up on the couch and mourn the death of James Barnes with late night television.

Halfway through the eight o'clock news Bucky hears a rapt at the door and his gut jumps into his throat. He can't help but think about who might be at the other side of the door. Bucky sinks into the couch a bit further and glares at the door hoping they would go away but at the third loud knock at the door he knows it's almost irrational.

“Sam!? Its Darlene, are you busy?” A voice calls from the front door, which is not unlike the woman’s voice Bucky had met last night. Part of Bucky is relieved that it's not someone waiting to put a bullet between his eyes. The other part is still annoyed that the woman couldn't take the hint after three minutes. “Sam dear the lights are on, is everything okay?” Darlene screeches and Bucky is reminded that normal behavior, like Sam said, wouldn't insight gossip and draw attention.

Bucky leaves his cocoon and unlocks the side door before Darlene can scrape her boney knuckles against it again. He is re-welcomed with the crooked smile as she fixed her hair.

“Oh, so sorry. Is Sam home?” she asks and Bucky thinks about the scene in 300 where Gerard Butler is oiled up and sculpted and kicks a man into a large and deep pit. The thought of Darlene’s screeching coming to an abrupt end is deeply satisfying.

“Sorry, he's off to works” Bucky says trying to keep his jaw from locking up and the glare down to a minimum.

“Oh, well… I was hoping that I could get my pan back if you two were done with it?” She asks moving to step into the house.

“Just a second,” Bucky mumbles, closing the door quickly before she can actually bring herself up the two stair stoop and into the house. Bucky remembers the glass container sitting on the countertop and he quickly grabs it before coming back to the door. Bucky opens the only barrier between himself and Darlene, god help him, and steps out onto the stairs to hand the pan back to her.

“We had ate last night, Sam mostly,” Bucky comments because that's what he thinks people do. He's never been given a casserole before but he remembers his grandmother getting a ton of sandwiches and confectionery when his grandfather passed and her having to comment on how nice everything was.  

“Oh well that's good to hear.” Darlene says with a larger and more crooked smile. Bucky decided it was crooked because the way her lips peeled across her teeth seemed uneven and slightly overdrawn to the point that it look like it hurt.

“John-”

“Ja- Jim” Bucky corrects before the woman starts up again with her lopsided and/ or crooked smile.

“ _Jim_ , I just wanted to say on behalf of the rest of the neighborhood that you're more than welcome here. Sam is just a great boy and we’re lucky to have someone so considerate on our block. And it's so wonderful that he’s found someone,” Darlene wipes a fake tear from the inside of her eye away and grips tightly to the dish before Bucky registers what's happening.

“I think I heard the phone ring,” Bucky says quickly before running up the stairs. Darlene looks shocked for a second, looking as if she is listening really hard for the phone to go off. “It might be important I got to take this, thanks again,” Bucky says a little bit too loudly given that Darlene is only a few feet away and slams the door so hard it makes the blinds on the windows shake.

Bucky locks the door with a click and runs his fingers into his hair trying to smooth out his thoughts. If Darlene is trying to say what he thinks she was saying it's that she thinks Bucky and Sam are _together_. Which would make a hell of a lot more sense than being roommates in this neighborhood now that Bucky thinks of it. Bucky cusses under his breath at the thought if it all.

 _Carter is going to love this_ , he thinks.


	3. Plan C

Bucky calls Agent Carter with the number he gets in the manila folder she had given him a day ago. He tells her that he thinks that Wilson's neighbors think they are together and Carter responds with “And?” in a tone that sounds mildly amused about the whole thing.

“ _And_ I don't want them to think that.” Bucky stressed because he was most definitely not one to let the block decide who he was going to date let alone fake date. He wishes that he could call Steve and bitch about Darleene, and the program. Steve would laugh it off with him and find something to lighten up the situation. When Bucky realizes he can't actually call Steve because Steve thinks he's died two days ago his lungs feel like someone is squeezing them like you would squeeze a balloon to make them pop.

“Honestly, I don't see why this is a problem? It gives you more mobility in the community. You two going out places together would look less suspicious than two roommates hanging out all day every day.” Carter explains- she sounds way too casual for this.

“I don't want to date Wilson.” Bucky complains and Carter sighs on the line and hesitates.

“Look Barnes. There's not a lot of people I trust right now. And there's and even smaller margins of people that I like. Sam Wilson is smack in the middle of the venn diagram. I only have so many options and if your comfort has to be sacrificed for your protection then so be it.”

Before Bucky can bite back a comment the other end of the line clicks closed and Bucky is left with the hollow tone of a phone line working its way through his ear and into his brain. Bucky sets the phone down on the coffee table and puts his heads in his hands to cradle the weight of it all.

Sam Wilson wasn't a threat bit he wasn't an ally. James Barnes had put cops into that bracket long ago. But now Bucky was out, he was actually _free_ of the gang that took what it wanted from him and left nothing but crumpled dollar bills on his nightstand. James was dead he reminded himself. Maybe he was long gone before the car accident even happened but there was no excuse to fall into that namesake.

Maybe the neat little boxes that Bucky had made didn't have to apply anymore. Maybe he _could_ trust Sam Wilson. Bucky hesitates to say it- because he knows that Sam is hiding something.

Bucky gets up from the couch and goes back to the dining room. The files upon files have since become slightly more compressed from the looks of it not filling onto chairs anymore. There's a flicker of doubt that he shouldn't the doing this but it was also Sam’s fault for leaving it out in the open.

Bucky starts picking up paper at random and reading thoroughly. It all reads like a bad crime drama centered around a couple of large pins that are heavy traffickers of guns, drugs, and other unmentionables. Bucky knows the story pretty well: the large pins pay off anyone that will stand in their way - police officers, city officials, shipping yards, tax auditors, and whomever could have their nose in the business. They do legitimate business to create some revenue and then smuggle in the big cash.

 

 The more Bucky reads the more familiar the story goes because it mutates from the profiles on the kingpins to his: 

At age 27 James Barnes decides to contact a detective and that detective contacts the DEA and the DEA contacts the FBI and before they know it there's a case that an Agent in Washington has been working on that is linked to the illegal shipment of items that’s linked to Harbours in New York State. From giving the police anonymous tips to lead witness in six months is dizzying. What Bucky collected now was information that helped to create a national case.

Bucky has to set the paper's down and take a large breath. He went to that detective drunk. He remembers the saggy feeling in his limbs when he talked to the detective. He remembers that he wanted to be turned in for what he did because that was the only thing he could think of to hurt the people in charge. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Bucky was supposed to be arrested along with the rest of them. He had blood on his hands like the rest of the crew.

Bucky sits and stares at a blank wall for a while trying to digest his guilt into smaller portions. It’s almost too fitting that the files are laid out over the dining room table- the feast of information was making him sick from having too much at once. Bucky wants to push through though, shuffling some photographs to the side looking for something… anything. 

Instead he finds more of what he actually knows and a sickness rested in his gut that wants to work its way into his throat.

After what feels like eons and turns out to be hour’s Bucky stands up and straightens out his strained back before padding towards a window to look out onto the well-lit suburbia. He’s never had such a quiet neighborhood before and when Bucky checks the clock on the stove while he walks by it’s not even midnight. He’s still not close to finding out what Sam is hiding but his mind runs wild in speculation - maybe Sam is guarding him in the safe house so closely because he’s getting ready to move him to Canada? Maybe he’s in Washington instead of someplace like Florida or Texas because they think Bucky will run? Maybe Sam has orchestrated an elaborate plan in order to kill him.

Or maybe Sam is being totally transparent. But Bucky can't trust someone that doesn't have their own secrets. There's a few moments where Bucky is glaring outside that he thinks that he should just leave- that if everyone thinks that he’s dead to his family in Brooklyn there isn't anything holding him back from breaking into a car and just driving into the vase and welcoming night. 

Instead Bucky returns to Sam’s couch, his body gravitates to the same spot he slept in last night as he wraps himself up tightly in the blanket there so he can pretend his heart doesn't ache thinking about what he left in New York.

 *

 

_Bucky is dreaming. He knows it's a dream because he’s back in his college apartment on a futon watching Steve roll a joint with his charcoal covered hands. The apartment is too small for the both of them but it’s what they could afford. Steve’s in art school after all. They split a one bedroom and sectioned off the living room into a second bedroom and eating area. The actual bedroom has become Steve’s art space and bedroom. He must have been doing something earlier and came home to Bucky whining about being unable to roll as tight as Steve can. Steve wouldn’t have argued. He would have just smirked and rolled his eyes before sitting down and doing the grunt work. Steve would say something like, “you’re such a lazy bastard” or maybe something like. “I’m cutting you off after this.”_

_Bucky can't move from off the couch - maybe he’s too stoned in the space of the dream.  Maybe he’s stuck to the couch with a thousand and one pieces of duct tape but he’ll never know because he can't look down. Steve’s hands work in practiced movements turning buds into loose flaky pieces. Bucky can hear Steve chuckle thinking about the time Bucky was young and bought what he thought was loose product to only find out it was basil leaves crushed finely. Bucky tells Steve to shut up and Steve rolls his eyes putting the flakes between to pieces of paper- one flavored, one not- Bucky’s preference back then._

_Steve takes his time rolling and Bucky takes his time watching. Steve's voice echoes the same question in his head as if Bucky can predict what he's about to say - how can he not it's in his dream? The echoing of Steve's question knocks around in his head “why?” Steve asks. It feels like he’s been asking for centuries._

_Bucky feels like he’s being attacked by powerful waves they move him no matter how much he fights. The undertow drags his further as he always back and forth and each small movement feels like a struggle against the wind. Bucky can only watch as waves crash and pull, crash and pull at his body._

_Steve continues to roll and licks the paper to finish it off. Steve moved his hair out of his eyes- that's wrong Steve has short hair. Steve scratches his nose before reaching towards Bucky to give him the joint. Bucky knows if he touches it something will happen. Steve doesn't say anything but he knows what he's saying._

_“You’ve always trusted me Buck, why stop now?” Bucky agrees with him bit he still can't reach out to take it. Steve’s look of concern morphs into utter grief. The emotion sweeps over him and he feels like he’s crying. Steve looks as if he has lost everything- that it's all been taken and unwoven before him._

 

Bucky wakes up in a sharp jerk and hauls ass to the bathroom. He manages to throw himself over the rim of the bathtub shower hybrid letting the contents of his stomach projectile towards the shower wall and into the drain.

Once he’s done Bucky spits the taste out of his mouth and presses his face to the cold rim of the tub.

He realizes he’s sobbing. It's a gut wrenching ache in his spine when he realizes what he’s done. He never wanted this, he never wanted to have to worry, to have to leave, to have to grief for himself and the life he’s lost.

 Bucky feels ridiculous because he cries until his eyes hurt and falls asleep with his face pressed against the tub. When he wakes up again he knows someone is there and he can only assume it's Sam. The person in question runs the shower to wash away what Bucky left and then sits beside him leaning against the tub. When Bucky opens his eyes he sees elbows staring back at him but he’s too drained to lift his head to look at Wilson's face.

 “Do you wanna talk about it?” Sam asks quietly to the silence, only silence answers back. Sam sighs and stretches out against the bathtub as if it's perfectly normal to be sitting on the floor or a bathroom.  “I know you're worried about what comes next” Sam says after a long silence and another pause follows in a long wave.

 Crash and pull, crash and pull.

 “I'm worried about that too.” Sam admits from what he can see from Sam’s body it tightens at the admittance. His voice seems… sincere to Bucky. He keeps quiet while Sam sits near him, when he looks up he Sam’s face torn a bit in concern and a bit what Bucky recognizes as grief. Bucky has a feeling low under the gut rot that Sam still has more to say, more that needs to be said but he looks as if something is holding him back.

 “Darleen thinks we’re dating” Bucky says. It should like a foreign language on his tongue. Sam doesn't even flinch.

 “...Carter told me.” he explains and Bucky doesn't even try to his is grimace. He's not why but he feels angry pit in his heart. It wasn't like Agent Carter was a friend or an ally but he still feels betrayed.

 “And?” Bucky asks through gritted teeth. Sam looks at him a bit confused.

 “And maybe we should consider it an option. If they think we're together then maybe we'll have more autonomy.” Sam suggests but Bucky still looks confused. “People won't ask us as much about our personal lives. The community is pretty conservative like that.” Sam tries to explain and Bucky struggles to sit up properly and push his hair back away from his face.

 After a long silence and Bucky staring across the bathroom to be eye level with the drawers under the sink he speaks; “are you even _gay_?” spits out of his mouth harsher than he thought it would be.

 Sam smile crinkles towards his eyes when Bucky glares at him. “I don't like labels” Sam says.

 “What a bullshit answer” Bucky spits, it's another empty answer Sam gives.

 Sam looks back at Bucky ever confused about his rage and makes his move to stand up. “Hey look, it's not the the smartest plan. But it’s better than the alternative of them causing a stir trying to figure out our relationship” Sam explains. Bucky pretends to only be half listening while he struggles up from the floor onto the rim of the tub. His mouth tastes like he licked the inside of a moldy gym bag.

 “Yeah well, other people shouldn't have to classify our relationship for us. We’re the only ones who can do it.”

“So you're saying you don't like labels?” Sam teases but his joke falls flat against Bucky’s glare.

“I'm saying that we shouldn't do something like this without considering the original plan.” Bucky grits out through his teeth.

“So you're saying that it's bad idea?”

Bucky hesitates because he's not sure it it's a bad idea or not. He doesn't want to say it's a good idea out of spite. He wants to be able to fight the plan just a bit, make the FBI budge rather than them picking him up like the waves in his stomach and sweeping him along for the ride. He gets the pro’s like how Carter brought up they would less conspicuous in the neighborhood if they traveled together. Bucky also knows that having someone there makes it easier for him to watch his back and build credibility when needed. He hesitates long enough that Sam takes it as a victory and he looks slightly surprised that Bucky remained silent.

“I'm not saying it's a _good_ idea.” Bucky says after a moment and Sam scratches at his jaw and leans against the bathroom sink across from Bucky.

The silence returns.

The drawing quiet must begin to gnaw at Sam because he leaves after a few minutes of leaning against the sink and staring. Bucky's mind continues to travel elsewhere before he thinks about the files on the table. Why would Sam have access to his background information and information about the case? Would that not make him liable? Why is the co-chair to major crimes for Washington even _glancing_ at a New York issue?

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom he’s light head thinking about all of these questions. He tears out of the bathroom and searches the common rooms for Sam before realizing he's not there. Bucky then tries Sam’s bedroom door and practically kicks it in with the sheer force of his shoulder hitting it.

Sam whips around to looks surprised at Bucky’s presence.  Sam is shirtless and is holding up his open slacks up at the sides. Bucky lets his eyes drift for a moment before attempting to maintain a glare.

“Can this wait? I've got a shift in the morning I got to make.” Sam says casually and Bucky feels flustered enough to agree and slam the door shut and practically runs to the bathroom into the shower.

A completely unrelated incident to catching Sam half-dressed he’s sure.

 

 

 

 


	4. Plan D

Five hundred miles away from James might as well be across the world as New York City holds her breath. The crime family that Bucky used to work for is getting ready for a four million dollar deal that may make them or break them open to new possibilities. That is to say... more money.

The boss had procured excellent cargo through a well-liked and trusted connection in Europe. The goods were traveling through shipping containers as he waited. Of course taking weeks to cross the Atlantic wasn't his first choice method on such an expensive load but the other company guaranteed a larger shipment per trip than if it was air couriered to New York. It was months of planning and weeks more waiting but the head of the Hydra crime family knew the reward would far outweigh the risk.

The boss had been patient, oh so patient for such an opportunity to come around. If he could pull this route off.

The man in charge, once James’ boss and what some would consider family does not take the news of James Barnes passing away so lightly. He doesn't think twice of taking over the arrangements and see to it that the beloved James Barnes was put to rest. He had made sure that his name had stayed out of the press releases; he had seen to it personally to pick the plot on where they would set the headstone. No expense had been spared for one of the Boss’ closest captains.

“It just seems reckless on his part,” someone says over dinner the night of the funeral. Captains sit around the table scraping silver knives over china plates. The boss attributes the sound usually with happy eaters but today he can only think about it as tires squealing on asphalt.

The boss flicks his eyes to the man who has said it and the scraping squeal noise of silver against china, steel against rubber, stop in a dead lock.  

“I would not speak ill of the dead,” the boss reminds the table. He gets up with his steak knife and proceeds towards the captain that had spoke and makes sure his eyes lock to his. “Those who speak ill usually find that they cannot speak at all,” he says in s low and sober tone. The captain nods but the Boss makes a point to press the knife to the side of his neck leaving a knife prick of blood to remind the table of what he was capable of.

The Boss decides to mourn elsewhere when the captain who spoke became the captain who spoke less on the account of spouts of blood leaking out the side of his throat.

He leaves the dining area for his study to look out the large glass windows out towards the city. The lights of the city are far enough away that they don't blind him while he looks towards them but not so far that he couldn't still make out pieces of the shoreline.

This was his city. People rose and fall in the limelight and some dive into the underbelly further than he would ever dare to go but he still remained. Hydra had spanned generations in this city - weaving itself into every corner becoming so ingrained in the heartbeat that city believed that it wasn't a virus but a cure for the deepest of disease.

He thinks about how he first came across the young James. So desperate to be someone, so willing to make a place for himself in the world. It had been easy to draw James in because those traits the boss saw in James were the same traits he saw in himself.

“I could use someone with ambition,” he had told James.

“Well, you're searching in the right place,” James had said back.

The boss had found him to be a most agreeable 'driver’ and when the time came he never hesitated to follow orders, no matter what the order was.

Except for the last few months… James had been stiff with him, more lackluster in his duties as before. It had caused a seed of doubt to grow and now with the death of James Barnes weighing on his mind he couldn't help but wonder…

*

Bucky wakes up on the couch again. The television had been turned off sometime during the early hours of the morning and a blanket has been moved to cover his feet.

Sam had been here.

It's been five days now of awkward tip toeing around one another and a slow build of routine. Mostly Bucky has been tracking Sam’s habits of 5-6am runs, eating habits, and weird work schedule which fluctuated so much he’s not sure how Sam keeps track. He says he's pretty free to come and go from his position as long as he makes the weekly meetings his P.A scheduled meetings. It takes Bucky a moment to decode what P.A meant but that wasn't the only thing that confused him about Sam.

From what Bucky could tell Sam was pretty much a homebody and Bucky's not sure if but he thinks it's Sam’s schedule and himself that keeps Sam tied here.

Bucky of course was stir crazy. The suburbia landscape wasn't interesting whatsoever and offered Bucky no output.

“If you get too bored you can cut the back lawn,” Sam has suggested but forgot to mention how to start the lawn mower that sat mocking Bucky in the garage. Bucky never had grass before and watching it grow from the dining room’s sliding door only made him want to pour cement all over it.

Bucky did have plenty opportunities to leave, of course he could walk out the front door at any point and just take off but the neighbors were an effective tool to keep him inside and out of sight. Yesterday he had tried to leave, thinking he could maybe just go for a walk but once he stepped out onto the sidewalk people started waving at him and a woman with a baby carriage stopped her weird stroller jog to introduce herself and invite him and Sam to dinner Saturday, work permitting.

When Bucky had ran back inside with an excuse to put it on the calendar he had told Sam, who was spread out with his laptop at the dining room table.

“Sounds like we have a double date with the Smiths,” Sam says, not even pausing to take his eyes off the screen.

“You're not taking this seriously,” Bucky complains and Sam looks up from his laptop for a moment, hands barely slowing down as he typed.

“I am taking it seriously. It's important to maintain appearances.” Sam replies dismissively- the words ‘maintain appearances’ have become second nature to him when talking to Bucky.

“You say that as if this is a life or death situation.” Bucky continues to complain as Sam shakes his head and returns to his laptop. Bucky friend and stomps up to Sam’s laptop and closes the lid to Sam’s laptop slowly enough that the lid wouldn't slap shit on his knuckles. Sam looks back up to Bucky and sighs again.

“How many times do I need to explain the more normal you are in this situation, the less attention people will pay attention to you?” Sam says locking his dark brown eyes with Bucky’s own.

“Normal is an elitist construct,” Bucky tries to argue and he sees the corners of Sam’s mouth tug up into a smile.

“You sound like a cheesy indie movie.”

The argument continues for the next two days up until Sam throws a towel at Bucky and hands him a new razor 'for the large rat that was melting into your neck’. The day had come and Sam had actively changed his plans to get out of work so the double date from hell would happen.

“We're keeping the story of how we met casual. Mutual friends introduced us- we’ve been together long distance when you lived in Canada. When you decided to move back I asked you to move in,” Sam briefs Bucky from the other side of the bathroom door. Bucky pats his face dry and uses an elastic band he stole off the bundle of broccoli to tie his wet hair up. When he stomps out of the bathroom he gets to be envious looking at Sam in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Bucky doesn't even think Sam knows how casually handsome he could be.

“No really? I should keep it casual? I was just going to say that I met you a week ago after the FBI had me fake my death and join the witness protection program.” Bucky snips and Sam does even say anything constructive on the subject. Instead, he decides to frown and look at the blunt end of Bucky’s hair to the bright blue elastic sticking out among the wet dark brown strands.

“Is that the elastic to go around my broccoli?”

“It was.” Bucky says instinctively reaching up protectively towards the band.

Sam leaves it alone as Bucky waddles with the towel around his waist into the guest bedroom. A few of the trash bags had been ripped open on the bed, their guts spilling out onto the bed sheets and a outfit was laid out against a pillow. It's a long sleeve and some jeans and he could only guess who decided to pick it out for him.

He hesitates to pick them up. Half because Sam has taken it upon himself to become Bucky’s butler given how neatly he tucked the plastic wrapped underwear package underneath the pair of jeans he had been allotted for the occasion. The other half is the same reason he’s been avoiding opening the plastic bags of clothes for the past week and a half- he doesn't want to change, literally and figuratively- into another person.

There's a sharp rapt of a knuckle against the doorframe as a naked and wet Bucky clings to the towel around his waist and glares over his shoulder to the ever so casual Sam.

“You're enjoying this,” Bucky thinks out loud and Sam pretends to play innocent.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You're smiling so wide your eyes are crinkling up at the sides. You're a sadistic man watching me squirm like this is your weekend plans.”  

“I can't say I had better plans tonight,” he says casually and closes the door so Bucky can change.

The elbows on the long sleeve shirt Sam picked out feel itchy as they rub against his skin in a weird way. He thinks maybe he should have washed the clothes first but there wasn't any time. So Bucky would have to squirm like a toddler around the house and he whined about the foreseeable safety risks these people could pose. As Sam had pointed out - they were already late for dinner. Bucky comes out of the room and slips shoes that are a bit too big onto his feet on the stoop. Sam presses a little piece of metal into his hand.

“What's this for?”

“It's a miniature tracker,” Sam explains while Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Better be safe than sorry,” he says, running back to the fridge again to grab a bottle of wine that he had bought from a specialty wine shop.

“Right, you want to track my body to where it washes up on the beach,” Bucky grumbles glaring at the wine he thinks is pretty pretentious because the seal at the top looks like a cork has been dipped on a dark red wax. Which looks stupid because Bucky knows all good wines come with a twist off foil cap.

“Just so you know I'm probably going to hold your hand,” Sam says, ushering Bucky out as he locks the door behind them.

“I would assume that you would use the tracker to find my dead body. Then use a stretcher to get me out of the water rather than drag me out by hand,” Bucky mumbles and Sam looks confused. “I'm joking,” Bucky says with no hint of a smile or humor in his voice.

“Your jokes are terrible,” Sam says bluntly. “Oh, and try not to look like you’ve just stepped on something sharp,” Sam suggests and Bucky continues to frown.

“Anything else?” Bucky asks. He thinks that his voice is sarcastic enough for Sam to get the point.

“So at dinner I will probably hold your hand. Maybe touch your shoulder.” Sam says and Bucky gives him a look that says _'I will shove your hands so far up your own ass that they’ll reappear at the back of our own throat.’_

“Yeah, that's the face. And I'm not joking,” Sam says, fixing the imaginary messed up hemline of his shirt bottom. Sam takes the mental threat well as Bucky expected and points him in the direction they’re heading down the sidewalk- towards what Bucky can assume is the Smiths’.

“The baby's name is David Jr. The husband David, has other children but they live with his first wife. The woman with the stroller’s name is Ashley,” Sam preps and Bucky feels a bit more relaxed knowing more about the people he’s walking up to meet. They are kiddie corner to Sam's place so they come up the stairs of the porch and Ashley is flinging open the door with a neon peacock inspired printed kimono wrapped around a equally hideous pair of bleached mom jeans and t-shirt that says something inspirational in sequins.

“Sammy is too good to see,” Ashley says jumping up an octave in a mild squeal wrapping an arm around him in a hug as she keeps her eyes open so she can wink at Bucky and make him feel gravely uncomfortable.

“Good to see you too,” Sam says, passing the bottle of wine to David, who has come to the door dutifully. “This is Jim,” Sam introduces Bucky and it takes a moment for Bucky to jump into shaking hands as if he was a wound up doll.

Maybe Bucky’s sense of largeness was off but the house just seemed too big for their neighborhood or maybe Sam’s house was just small because this place has a formal sitting room. The house seemed far too big house for one baby. The only other person’s house Bucky saw a formal room for couches was in his old Boss's mansion.

“Dinner is getting cold, come on in and I'll get this chilled,” David Sr. says holding up the wine to check the label. David makes a face that looks like he’s trying to hide he's impressed and enters further into the house. Sam moves his hand back so he can take Bucky’s hand but Bucky chooses to ignore it and kicks off his shoes at the front door before moving further into the home.

The house reminds Bucky of the television show Mad Men in the sense that it had a lot of orange toned wood and modern era furniture with shiny chrome details. The dining room has plaid walls and an orangish round wood table that is spread out with a fairly new china set that Bucky can only guess is from a wedding.

“Don't be nervous Jim. David is an excellent barbecuer,” Ashley smiles and Bucky finds himself miming her smile.

“I haven't had a good barbecue for ages.” Sam butters up David with a big white smiles and Ashley waves the comment off with her hand before sitting down across from two sets of plates that Bucky can only assume is fit him and his… partner?

“You're going to make it go to his head.” Ashley giggles and Bucky is sitting down trying to remember to keep his face from looking like he just stepped on something sharp.

When David brings food to the table they all dig in and Bucky is iffy about if he should wait for prayer or some shit but David dives in with a mouthful of corn and practically shouts at Bucky: “So what do you do Jim?”

Bucky’s thumb slips off the massive serving spoon for the most whipped mashed potatoes he’s seen in his life. Sam is casually pouring Bucky a glass of water from the pitcher into his wine glass.

“I've just moved back from Canada. I'm still readjusting,” Bucky says, focusing on his grip again so he can spoon a dollop of whipped potatoes onto his plate. Bucky looks over to Sam, who is sampling everything at the table like a true guest and is pouring himself some wine that the Smith’s had put out.

“Well once you're all settled in what do you think you'll do?” Ashley questions and Bucky can't decide if he feels like he's on a quiz show or it he's under white-hot interrogation lights.

“Well before I came here I used to be a driver,” Bucky says slowly. Listening to his own voice he sounds like he had just suffered a severe concussion. Technically it wasn't untrue. Bucky had spent more daytime hours with the company driving people and things to other locations than anything else.

“So you did delivery things? What did you deliver? Pizza's?” David asks. He's trying to be funny but Ashley is rolling her eyes and giving him extra salad on to his vastly meat and potatoes plate.

“Jim used to work for a shipping company so he’d pick up what needed to be picked up and do drop offs around the provinces,” Sam interjects. He seems too loose and open about the questions but looking a bit closer his muscles are as tight as Bucky’s, forced into a more relaxed pose. He’s trying to help so Bucky is a bit relieved and tries to match Sam's smile in his face.

“It was different things all the time, right babe?” Sam adds at the end and Bucky is back to low key wanting to punch Sam in his straight white teeth.

“You're right, sugar,” Bucky says with gritted teeth before turning back to David. “It was a good job but I moved here to make changes in my life,” Bucky says and he thinks he might believe it. But then again, he’s always been a good liar.

“So what's the weirdest thing you've ever had to deliver?” Ashley asks and Bucky has a bizarre memory of dropping a half beaten body off at the side of the road.

“I can't really think of anything,” Bucky brushes off, thinking about leaving someone in the gutter while it rained. He remembers thick blood mixing in with the stream of water before it slid down the drain. He remembers when he threw him out of the van his head hit the curb of the sidewalk and it split open to try to mold to the shape of the cement. Bucky couldn’t remember if the man was dead before he hit the curb or not. But he could remember that wet crunch sound of bone breaking through skin.

“Boo,” Ashley says keeping one hand firm on the raised wine glass while she pushes food around on her plate with the other.

“So Sam, I hear the Washington PD is beginning to add body cams into their gears now,” David says, drifting back towards Sam, who is trying to cut through a tough piece of meat.

“Yeah, they're trying to get everyone familiar with the change,” Sam says finally breaking through the other side to stick the tough piece in his mouth to continue chew.

Once dinner is finished they find themselves in the fancy living room. David has switched from wine to beer and Ashley seems a lot more relaxed after opening the second bottle of wine that Sam had brought.

Sam mirrors Ashley’s posture and sinks into the couch further. Maybe Sam was a lightweight because he had only drank two glasses over the course of the evening while Bucky had never seen Ashley's glass empty.

“You too need to relax more,” Ashley says going to half drape herself on top of her husband. David doesn't seem to mind, he leans into his wife's touch. Bucky and Sam on the other hand are at opposite sides of the couch.

“How so? We are super relaxed,” Sam says in a tone that could be mistaken for playful but to Bucky it sounds more sarcastic. Maybe because he had been here too long and was tired of Ashley’s too shrill voice or David’s Sr’s constant chuckling at his own bad jokes.

“No I mean, it you looks like you two barely even know each other! How long have you known each other?” Ashley squeaks.

There’s a pause for a moment. Bucky looks to Sam whose desperately trying to find a believable number.

“You know, it doesn’t feel long enough.” Bucky answers and Sam can’t help but make a sound in the back of his throat which could be mistaken from muffled laughter.

Ashely and David seemed to be pleased with the answer while she continues; “Well-you're living together at least hold hands!” Ashley encourages and Bucky thinks that she's only partially right. Bucky knows Sam is watching him, he can feel the heat of his stare.

“Jim isn't much of a cuddler unfortunately,” Sam says and Bucky catches a shrug out of the corner of his eye as he stares at the floor.

Ashley makes a sound like water coming out of a tap and makes violent motions with her hands to mimic to two of them should move closer. Bucky takes the first move and slides across the couch so he can feel the heat of Sam’s body up the side of his own.

Bucky knows he’s blushing badly when Ashley adds cooing to the violent hand pantomime.

“Ash it's okay, don't force them,” David says delicately to his wife, saving Bucky and Sam from further embarrassment. Ashley huffs in defeat before sinking into towards her husband.

“Well I'm just glad you're happy,” Ashley says, giving David her drink so she could melt further into him.

David and Sam talk for much longer than expected. Ashley makes an excuse to check on the baby and when she doesn't come down again David suggests she’s fallen asleep beside the crib. Bucky sits pretending not to focus on the lack of physical space he has between his body and Sam’s. He adds the occasional commentary but the conversation revolves around things he doesn't know much about. Namely: Washington’s weather patterns two years ago, the rate of hydro, and local gossip.

Sam looks as though he finds a soft bit of pleasure in the conversation. David talks about the neighborhood and plans for the expansion of the back deck while Sam talks about his family and their similar experience with deck rot problems and how they solved it.

It wasn't riveting material but the lull of their voices is somewhat soothing. A Sam is too engaged to stop Bucky from looking at his face, soaking up the details of his skin and eyes that had remained slightly crinkled because of the smile he has on his face.

“I think it's time we get out if your hair,” Sam says finally and David is nodding.

“Of course, I'm glad you had time to come,” David says, shaking Bucky's hand and then Sam’s.

“Tell Ashley thanks for the invite,” Bucky says, “it was a very warm welcome to the neighborhood,” he adds because that's something that someone might say in this situation.

“Will do, thanks Jim,” David says and let's Sam and Bucky walk out into the cool night air. Bucky takes Sam's hand and all three are surprised from the contact they had sustained from all through dinner.

They say their goodbyes from the porch and Bucky and Sam hold hands down onto the street. Sam takes a chance and laces his fingers more comfortably with Bucky's as they walk. Their minds weighed down with food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pretty good with posting on Monday nights for me. This may be subjected to change.... I also think I've planned up to 20 chapters so I've updated the count but this might vary depending on my writing speed and such. Thanks for the wonderful support so far.


	5. Plan E

Bucky and Sam’s relationship boasts no changes. They tiptoe around one another when Sam is home during the day and only meet together at meals. Bucky has begun to leave a large dent in the couch where he primarily lives. After two weeks it had started to be a size-able sinkhole so much so that Bucky had started to notice the size-able decrease of cushion volume. Sam remains quiet about the whole thing but Bucky catches him checking the guest room if the bed had been slept in.

Sam doesn't ask if the bed isn't comfortable or if there's too much light, he’s just taken to leaving a blanket out for Bucky and keeps the curtains at the front of the house closed for most of the day.

Bucky has started to monitor Sam's schedule out of habit since he got to DC. Sam’s work schedule seemed pretty sporadic for someone that has a cushiony office job in the police department. Other than that he’s pretty easy to clock. There's a 5am to 6:30 am run before coming home to shower everyday then depending on if he's working at night or during the day Sam gets ready for work, eats, and basically goes on with his life as if Bucky wasn't there.

There are moments when both parties join but Bucky determines that if he doesn't seek out Sam then they won't talk for most of the day. Sometimes Sam would announce if he was going out somewhere and what time he would be back at. Sam has given up the suggestion of Bucky stretching his legs to get some yard work in after Bucky refused outright to step outside in case of someone else asking them over for dinner.

Bucky had made it clear once they got home from the Smith's as he wiped his hand off on his jeans from his clammy hands he would _not_ be in attendance for the next social event.

So with human interaction and manual labor crossed off the list of things Bucky wasn't going to do his schedule narrowed considerably. Bucky's life consisted of daytime television and sleeping. It wasn't a healthy lifestyle- he could feel himself become more sluggish as time went by.

If he were in New York there would always be something to do. Lots of the job consistently making strange phone calls prompting him about drop offs or pick -ups. There were a few days a week that he actually played a company man for Hydra. He would dress up, go to a million dollar front for the company and act as security for the Boss.

It wasn't a glamorous life, it wasn't all guns and girls and drugs. But he had family to protect, to put food on the table for- an even larger 'family’ (so to speak) to eat with.

Sam comes back from his morning job late on Thursday by about forty minutes and he looks less sweaty that usual. Bucky wiggles into a half sitting position using the back of the couch as support. Sam moves into the living room and begins to pace, he looks like something has agitated him.

“What?” Bucky croaks out, voice scratchy from disuse. His own voice sounds foreign to him at this hour. Sam looks to him his eyes wide as he takes sharp breathes in and out.

“I just got stuck in a morning speed walk with a couple of ladies from around the block.” Sam's tone in the matter sounds as if he was revealing a shocking secret. Bucky stares at Sam for a moment picturing him with two noses instead of one.

“…And?” Bucky asks slowly, he can't believe this is what his life has come to. Sam uses the collar of his shirt to wipe sweat off of his nose.

“And,” Sam says through the hem of his shirt, “they gave me one of the most threatening interrogations I've ever witnessed.” James can tell that Sam wants feedback but Bucky is too tired. Bucky pushes some hair back from his forehead and yawns. “They went on and on about you, and how Lawrence and Maggie saw us walking together back from the Smith's,” Sam continues

“I don't see why this is a big thing? Guys hold hands all the time,” Bucky shrugs. This is pointless information to him he's not sure why Sam is trying to it share with him.

“Well the wanted to know more about you, and us,” Sam says and Bucky still doesn't know what Sam wants.

“Tell them one time, I watched a guy named Vinnie break another guy named Vinnie’s pinkie finger because he shorted him five dollars,” Bucky says after a large yawn. Bucky sticks his legs out from the blankets to stretch them, feeling the muscles expand in a way that could only be explained as his whole body releasing air after a deep breath.

Sam can be heard whispering 'what the fuck’ under his breath as he makes his way to the bathroom for a shower.

Bucky gets up stretching more as he goes pretending the knots in his shoulders were not from how he slept on the couch that night. Bucky walks into the kitchen and prepares to make coffee. He realizes halfway through that he knows where everything is put and the knots in his shoulders twist into larger lumps in his lungs.

The smell of coffee permeates the house and Bucky hears Sam travelling down the hallway to his bedroom shouting his order; “two sugars, milk till it's the color of oak.” Bucky gets the mugs out and starts to pour.

In his state of half asleep, half awake he thinks about how it easy it is for him to fall into a pattern like this. How easy it is to forget what he's done, who he’s hurt. The make believe of Jim Buchanan is too easy to slip into, and nothing is stopping him from just falling deeper into it.

Guilt sits woven into the knots and kinks in his body. His throat feels dry as his eyes feel sore trying to push back pathetic little tears.

He hears Sam come into the kitchen so he tries not to choke so loudly before running his arm quickly across his face to get rid of any tears that could have escaped. Bucky had to remain strong, remain unmodified. He turns to Sam and he sees the look of pity in his eyes from across the room.

Sam has a crease between his eyes that Bucky has dubbed his worry line. He called it that due to the face he sees most often when Sam's looking over the piles of paperwork on the dining table. “What's wrong?” Sam asks and Bucky just pushes it all back and waves his hand like he's pushing away the question.

“Just couldn't find the sugar,” Bucky jokes and Sam’s worry line decreases slowly before he moves across the kitchen beside Bucky. Under the smell of fresh coffee Bucky can smell Sam’s body wash when he's standing so close. He smells sharply of freshly peeled orange rinds after his shower. Sam is close enough he can feel his body heat while he reaches up into the cupboard beside Bucky's head and takes the Tupperware of sugar that Bucky knows is there. Sam puts it on the counter and looks at Bucky.

They are pretty close, which is to say that they are pretty much standing on top of one another. Bucky can see the tiny little scar under his eye that looks like a chicken pox scar and how thick Sam’s eyelashes are from how close they stand.

“Listen, James,” Sam says in a way that feels like a blanket does when it's wrapped around a person's shoulders. “I’m here if you need to talk. About anything. But I can't help if you don't tell me what you need.”

Bucky makes eye contact with Sam, picking out at least three shades of brown in his eyes while he lets the words sink in. Sam rests lightly on top of Bucky's hand on the counter and the heat from Sam’s body transfers onto him. Bucky looks down to the linoleum floor looking for flaws to nitpick while Sam stands firm beside him with his hand over Bucky’s.

After a while, a long while Bucky gives up looking for flaws and Sam shifts his attention from Bucky to pouring his own coffee and moving into the living room so he can turn on the morning news.

*

Bucky doesn't end up making himself a coffee and he decides to sit in the bottom of the tub and let the shower head pour water over him for a while. The longer he sits the less ache he feels in his lungs and shoulders when he focuses on seeing water gather around the stoppered drain. After the tub fills up he stops the water and sits exhausted and pruning.

Bucky tries holding his legs close to his chest but his elbows start to hurt from digging into the metal sides of the tub. His tailbone gets tired from the position as he stretches out slowly so he doesn't displace water onto the bathroom floor. Bucky thinks about an old apartment that his mom used to rent when he was younger that had water seep under the floor by the bathtub. Mold festered there growing unknown to her before the smell became noticeable.

Bucky thinks about his mom and his sister and Steve for a long time. He thinks about his mom cleaning out his closet and his sister looking at old photographs. The water turns cold and he keeps staring at the tap and thinking about the moldy apartment floor and the birthday present unwrapped under his bed for his mom.

Sam knocks on the door when Bucky pulls the plug on the drain. The dry skin on his elbows and feet are puffy from taking in water and the tips of his fingers look as if wrinkles formed on top of wrinkles. Bucky draws the curtain of the shower tight so Sam can open the door and not be surprised to see a crying drowned rat looking asshole in his tub.

Sam does crack the door a bit but Bucky can't tell if he came in or not. “Agent Carter needs to see you,” Sam says and Bucky reaches out of the tub for a towel he put on the floor.

“I’ll be right out.”

“Actually, were going out,” Sam says and Bucky peeks his head out of the shower curtain to see Sam’s arm holding firm to the door handle with the rest of his body is turned outwards.

“I'm sorry, I think I have water in my ears,” Bucky snips.

“We’re leaving the house for a bit. My couch needs a break from your ass,” Sam says and Bucky can almost hear the eye roll.

Bucky feels nervous thinking about leaving the house because that means he's going to have to look semi presentable. He chooses clothes quickly and reuses the broccoli band again to pull most of his wet hair back. Sam meets him at the front door with a leather jacket and shades on looking like he's just stepped out of a Gucci billboard ad.

“So where are we meeting her?” Bucky asks as he's forced outside. The day is turning into dusk and cars fill up the driveways of the community as most, what Bucky assumes, families finish food and are winding down for the day. Sam locks the door and directs Sam to his crossover in the driveway, slightly less skittish than Bucky was.

Once Sam climbs into the driver's side and turns on the radio he speaks. “Carter wants to meet in public so I told her about a restaurant I know of in the area.” Sam stresses the last part, which doesn't make sense for a second but it's like someone switches on a light for Bucky. Since it’s in the area they’re going to have to play up the boyfriend stuff.

“What, so we're having a three way date with her?” Bucky half jokes half asks as Sam backs out of the driveway.

“No, I think she's bringing a filler,” Sam says point blank. He seems a bit anxious to Bucky by the way he grips tightly to the steering wheel.

Bucky thinks it's best they don't talk till they get to the meeting spot. He's not sure if Sam thinks that's the best idea from the radiating tension inside the car but it's the best plan he has. Sam turns into a parking space on the side of a corner restaurant with large wide windows all along the two sides facing the streets. The inside reminds Bucky of a classic American diner complete with plush burgundy booths and long chrome counter in the middle of the place. Sam leads Bucky through the door and waves hello to the waitress in the semi crowded diner before walking to a table across the back wall and not against the windows.

Agent Carter looks pretty angry when they walk in. Sam puts Bucky on the inside corner and slips in next to Carter. She's wearing the same baseball cap that she was wearing the day she dropped Bucky off and the same guy that drove sits beside her now.

“Buchanan, you remember Barton,” Carter says and Buck scans the grumpy looking guy across from him. His own short blonde hair is stuck underneath a baseball cap and there's a large bandage across his nose that suggests he's recently broken it somehow.

Bucky turns away from staring at Barton and responds sharply with, “no,” before Carter rolls her eyes.

“Order soda so the waitress doesn't bother us with refills.” Carter demands while the waitress comes up with a large smile on her face. The ordering goes quickly, Sam orders steak and eggs and so does Barton. Carter opts for pie and Bucky just gets the special even though it doesn't sound appetizing.

Once food and sodas arrive Carter pulls out a letter-sized envelope and slides it across to Bucky.

“Technically, you're not supposed to see this but I'm running out of time and patience,” Carter warns as Sam leans forward to give Bucky more cover so he can open up the envelope and read the pages.

“What is it?” Sam asks swallowing a mouthful of food.

“A Shipping Manifest,” Bucky answers, he flicks his eyes up to Carter for a nod.

“We acquired it roughly around the time you were pulled from the operation,” Agent Carter explains as Bucky reads the dates and descriptions. It looks like the list goes on for a while.

“This is the next few months of shipments they are receiving,” Bucky clarifies for Sam as he turns towards him. Sam starts reading off descriptions under his breath: _400 units of silicone, 12,000 units of roofing nails, 1,000 units of pill bottle caps…_

_“_ Wow, I wasn't aware the Mafia was using child proof caps to maintain an empire,” Sam jokes says and Barton snorts from across the table. Bucky feels his lips tug into a smile thinking about his former employers flicking plastic caps at one another in a fight.

“Hydra keeps things on this side of legal. Some shipments are legitimate since they order things for factories they co own,” Carter explains through her teeth. She remains impatient as she massacres the pie on her plate to make it look like she's ate some.

“So how can you tell what shipments are legitimate or not,” Sam asks and Bucky feels three pairs of eyes turn to him. He’s staring at the shipping list intently on dates and descriptions.

When Bucky first heard that the FBI was picking up the case after being a CI his world became a bit more dangerous. They asked him to plant bugs and false information, they asked him to start recording, but they never asked him to break into the shipping yard and pull a manifest and consult with them about what to do about it.

There is just under a hundred things listed in tiny script on the few pages that Carter passed him. And something tells Bucky there is more waiting for him in Agent Carter’s brief case that was stuffed under the table.

Bucky looks to Sam first. A crease returns as he stares at him. He can see tension sit in Sam’s jaw as he waits for Bucky to say something so he can put his two cents in. James looks away first so he can fold up the pages Carter handed over and stuffs them in his back pocket. Bucky looks at Carter and she nods.

“Technically speaking, this never happened,” Agent Barton announces finishing off the rest of his steak with a sharp bite. “Information in ongoing cases isn’t supposed to be discussed.”

Sam grunts in response glaring through Carter who's doing a very good job at ignoring him.

“You have 48 hours with the material. I can't guarantee anything more. This is big favor that you’re doing here,” she tells Bucky, he just nods and looks again to Sam whose pushed his plate away from him and leans in close.

“Carter, this is toeing the line.” Sam warns in a low sort of rumble.  

Agent Carter leans into the table meeting the intensity in Sam’s stare head on. “Wilson, he's the best shot and you know it.”

“There's at least nine hundred analyst’s working for the FBI, why does it have to be Barnes?” Sam snaps.

“You. _know._ why.” Agent Carter says through gritted teeth before reaching into her pocket to pull out money for her portion of the bill. She slaps the money down on the table shaking some of the cutlery in the process before she gets up to leave. Before she does she looks back over to Bucky while fixing the collar to her light jacket. “Forty-Eight.” She reminds him before Barton slides out of the booth after her and they disappear through the side door.

Bucky is trapped between a wall and one angry looking police officer whose glaring at the money at the table like Agent Carter left him a pile of shit. Bucky wonders if he should do something but Sam is throwing money onto the table on top of Carter's crumpled bills. Sam doesn't think twice about kicking the briefcase out from under the table and picking it up.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated and welcomed. Thank you to my lovely significant annoyance TenSpencerRiedPlease for the beta and support.


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